Soulless, Changeless, Blameless

Aha! I slay me.

Changeless and Soulless have bounced around the interwebs for a while so I thought I’d dive in and have a read – Changeless was the first title to become available for me at the library so, despite it being the second in the series, I took it. I’ve been told I really should have read Soulless and I will be when it becomes available.

Anyway, actual book? A fun piece of fluffery. Frippery even. Don’t expect much (which I kind of made the mistake of doing), don’t expect writing that extends beyond exposition and you’ll be fine.

Does that make me sound like a total po-faced killjoy? Because it reads like it does.

Some of the supposed language tics annoyed the frick out of me, the plot was a little slow to begin with but improved immensely, I’m not one for cliffhanger endings, I enjoyed a lot of the humour, I engaged more with the characters as the book progressed, I’m happy to read the others (but not looking to run out and buy them), I didn’t love it like I thought I would but I’m willing to look into a bit more of the genre (steampunk. I believe).

Changeless was fun. Is what I’m trying to say.

I think I need to relax more.

He added, with a laugh: “Or maybe it was no good, there was always that possibility.”

Yes, Mr McEwan there is always that possibility.

Okay, so maybe I should have called this Today’s narrow world of Snark…

The Widow’s Daughter by Nicholas Edlin, Penguin, RRP $30, ISBN 9780143204091, Available now.

This review that has been haunting my brain for a few days now – well, ever since I finished The Widow’s Daughter. This should be a great book and I should have liked it – it has a great premise, it’s a debut novel, but the writing is technically good, it has a strong New Zealand connection… but nothing about it came together. And so much about it left me cold and wondering why I was reading it.

The Widow’s Daughter focuses on Peter Sokol – American marine and surgeon who arrives in Auckland in the early 1940s and becomes involved with a mysterious, self-proclaimed British family through a growing attraction/love/obsession for their daughter, Emily.

Much mystery then ensues, and the book switches between this setting and the Californian coast in the 70s, where Sokol lives with his partner and works as an artist - and the release of a new book written by a fellow Marine and essentially telling what Sokol believes is his story becomes the catalyst for revisiting within himself his time in New Zealand.

One of the downfalls is this switching between the two stories – particularly in the initial stages of the book, the chapters are quite short and there just isn’t enough time in each era to become comfortable and enthralled – or to take in what’s happening and become connected to events, locations and the characters. And it’s this sense of connection (which can really sort out the great books from the okay books) which then becomes a major problem later on.

I felt no connection to the characters in The Widow’s Daughter and little connection to the location or story. I found myself being less interested in the characters as the book went on – which is bottom about face, right? But the characters were cold, and unpleasant without charm. With this happening it then became difficult to connect to the location (despite a very obvious reason for why it should have been an easy connection – one of the reasons I wanted to read The Widow’s Daughter in the first place) and to the story – if I’m not caring about these characters I’m not caring about where they’re going, what will happen to them before they get there – and I had no emotional involvement in any possible redemption/epiphany of any of them. 

The depiction of Auckland begins charmingly and truthfully with a focus on the nature of the light in New Zealand – sharp, hard, all-revealing and dazzling. I had a moment of “yes!” that got drowned out by the repetition of this insight – again and again and again and again and… again. Oh wait, metaphorical, right? *sigh* And any reader looking for an interesting sense of place from the setting of New Zealand, or any authentic sounding voice of the inhabitants, will finish very disappointed. Beyond the tidbit about Victoria Park being a rubbish tip/burner (again, repeated too many times) there is little detail about either the New Zealand/Auckland of the time or the Americans who found themselves there. One finished with the impression that the Kiwis at the time were all boofheads and the Americans were all drunks who spent all of their days with prostitutes. Really?

In the final equation I was simply frustrated and annoyed by The Widow’s Daughter. At heart it is not a badly written book but it all feels a bit like a show. In a twist the tagline on the cover – “When love becomes obsession” – ends up being quite apt – a meaningless phrase that doesn’t seem to have had a lot of time put into it or a critical eye cast over it.

But I made the NZ Book Related Twitterer’s List into a Page all of it’s own. Link s’over there, see →

I have a motherlode of library books to get through in the weekend.

And finally, LoTR fans – you be hating on me, but I couldn’t agree more with this:

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

“Of course, you don’t have to buy a book to read it, but the act of giving someone a book of his or her own has an undeniable, totemic power. As much as we love libraries, there is something in possessing a book that’s significantly different from borrowing it, especially for a child. You can write your name in it and keep it always. It transforms you into the kind of person who owns books, a member of the club, as well as part of a family that has them around the house. You’re no longer just a visitor to the realm of the written word: You’ve got a passport.” –Laura Miller in her Salon essay, “Book owners have smarter kids.”

I love it that I saw this quote on Beattie’s Book Blog right next to a reproduced article about e-books (written by Bachelor of Communications student Perlina Lau) which contained this:

When asked about the fears of losing the paperback, Taylor says that there are emotional attachments to paper books, but this desire to hang on is “hope rather than reality”.

“Once you get into digital, you don’t go back.”

The quote is from Martin Taylor, forum director of the Digital Publishing Forum. To me it illustrates one of the major, fundamental problems with current thinking about digital publishing and e-books – that the technology is not an addition, it is a replacement. That technology enthusiasts and reading lovers are just waiting for the magic key which will give them license to throw away their paper books and never hold another again.

I really don’t want to go on another rant (oh yeah? okay, I am) about the many misconceptions about reading and the many pronouncements about how dead paper is, but why are proponents of digital publishing still holding on to this idea that it’s one or the other? Why is this a replacement paradigm only? Why are we as readers being told that we have to choose between paper and digital – both have really obvious benefits and both have strengths over the other. I do have very strong emotional attachments to books, though this isn’t overriding my logic (or my sense of reality). If it was, I would have far more books in my house and I would have real trouble selling them – but books are still things, just incredibly efficient things that allow me to read in very pleasurable manner and often look damn good.

At the same time, please don’t underestimate this attachment, however. The very essence of what we’re talking about here is retailing. Why would retailers ignore the power of emotional drivers? As the Laura Miller quote above illustrates, the feeling of possession of a book is quite unique. It is at once intensely personal and intensely communal.  Books can be strongly coveted by those that don’t have them but at the same time they don’t represent unattainable luxury like a lot of technology, especially to those in countries with far less access (and possiblity of access) to any of this kind of technology. I have this book – I have the power to lend it, to recommend it, to sell it and to show it off to you. I have the power to give it to you freely. That power disappears in digital.

Ebooks will do other things that paper doesn’t – that’s why I will never dismiss them or suggest we don’t need/want them. An ebook reader filled with hundreds of out of copyright classics that I can just pick up and browse through, any time? Brilliant! When I can afford one I’ll be thrilled. I’ve been a longtime browser of the NZETC and the new MeBooks intiative is fantastic. There may be a lot of new releases I’ll be interested in too, particularly those I see myself reading once only. And for subscription content, for rental content – I totally agree with the possiblities of a rental system – imagine a university library where every single student can rent readings for course content at the same time, instead of the limited access of paper copies. Imagine the possibilities for education.

However, if we’re going to talk about hope and reality, the current reality for ebooks is this: as pointed out in the comments to the article, this same talk about the effect of digital over print has been going on for years – and the process is ongoing and will continue to be. The many pronouncements over the years of “the death of print” have not borne immediate fruit. Digital is far more about “hope”, currently. Hope that consumers will buy their product (and the product is not the book, it is the e-reader, because books are a proven product), hope that a particular e-reader will become dominant (for the makers that is), hope that they can work out the many issues over DRM, pricing, format, designing e-books, publisher contracts, etc.

Beattie, who now judges, reviews and blogs about books, says e-books are good for those who prefer technology to reading.

“It’s in a format that appeals to them.”

I’m going to go a little further than that. I was going to end with a mea culpa about this being a polemical rant and how maybe I’m a minority voice, etc, etc, but no. Let me end with this address to developers of digital publishing. For you it’s about technology. For us, your readers and consumers, it’s about books. Your books may not be printed but they are still books. You need to start thinking about, and understanding, readers. Not technology adopters.

Readers aren’t looking for an excuse to give paper books up.

Readers voted on these choices and they also named The Book Thief by Markus Zusak at number three – again, a brilliant choice. The Book Thief was stunning and Zusak is an incredibly talented writer.

Number two was The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Now I realise what I’m about to say would get me thrown out of a number of book clubs (imagine if book clubs were like actual nightclubs with bouncers, “Got some ID have ya?”, pull out your library card, anyway…) but I just don’t like The Kite Runner. I found it boring. And a bit blah. And really really depressing. The beginning was good, the whole first half was okay but the second half? Ack.

I know I’m in a definite minority here and most people use words like “soaring” and “inspiring”. So come on readers, tell me what you are in the minority on? Do you hate The Time Traveller’s Wife? (I know people who do! I was as shocked as you! ) Is there something that others find soaring and you find boring? Confess all…

I’m hoping to some extent this is a phase rather than a long-term change! My reading style seems to go through cycles. Up until quite recently I was always loathe not to finish a book I had started, out of some sort of need to prove my stick-to-it-ness. These days, though, I am far less patient with books that are not keeping my interest or proving worth my reading time – and oftentimes it’s hard to put my finger on exactly what it is that is making it unreadworthy. Sometimes even bad or badly-written books can be readworthy, with a judicious amount of skim-reading.

Perhaps it’s just as time goes on and I think about the amount of great books out there yet to be read and the amount of great books to come I see less use in wasting my time on those that are falling well outside that category.

Question and Comment Time: So, dear viewers of mine, have your reading habits changed over the years? Can you give a book up or are you readers to the end? Do you have to read only shorter books or longer books and do you mind?

Especially the bits about On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, because now I know I’m not alone.

Make sure you read the comments…my favourite is from PatrickRiot “Ever notice Dan Brown is the special needs Umberto Eco?” - ouch!

1. Names in books. Please, please, please if you’re selling or giving away a secondhand book don’t twink, black out or cut out a name that’s been written in the book. All you will do is make the book uglier and if you just leave your name there, I can say with a high level of confidence that you will NOT be stalked by subsequent purchasers. Even if you have at some point written your phone number on the first page, it is very unlikely that you will recieve a call at 2am asking for your opinion on whodunnit or complaining the book is no good. Trust me. Think of it as your little contribution to the book community, your own personal Golden Record.
2. Dropping books in the bath. Every so often we receive books that have slightly ruffly pages, like paper that has been damp then dried. What’s happened to these books I wonder? Bath dropping? Puddle dropping? Children? It’s a mystery. Books and water – not a mix.
3. Bookmarks. It’s amazing what people use as bookmarks. I have a small box filled with these finds, ranging from the mundane (business cards, boarding passes) to the personal (letters and family photos) to the “Previous owner should have REALLY checked this” ($20 note, photo of woman on a bed wearing only lingerie and a feather boa). And just recently I found my first CD in a book. It’s not part of the book and not supposed to be there. I just need a working CD drive to find out what’s on it (because I’m nosy alright?)! My advice – give your books a quick flick before you part with them. And lucky for you, if you buy a book from BookieMonster we’ll chuck in an extra special superdooper totally 100% free change your life BookieMonster bookmark. Phwoar, free stuff!
4. Books as coasters. You have a mug of hot tea or coffee. Suddenly you have a task that requires two hands. But what to do with the mug? Where could you possible put it? On top of your book of course! Solve your mug problem and add an attractive brown ring to your book’s cover at the same time. Brilliant!

So what do you wish people wouldn’t do to books? What bookie habits make you cringe?

“It” is On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Now I want to be an Ian McEwan fan. It seems from my other Likes that I should be the ideal Ian McEwan fan. I mean, I genuinely enjoy Booker Prize-winning books (odd, I know), I tend towards UK writers and I may be a tiny little literary snob. But other than Amsterdam (which I read a long time ago and can’t remember disliking) I just haven’t liked any of his books.

On Chesil Beach is the story of the wedding night of Florence and Edward, married that day, virgins still and anticipating their wedding night, though for completely different reasons. I can admire the technical virtuosity of the writing in On Chesil Beach but I could not forgive the absolute drivel of a plot and frankly ridiculous characterisations.

I felt no emotional connection with either Edward or Florence. Edward is made out to be an almost dribbling with desire teenage boy (he’s 23) and Florence is a bad stereotype of a frigid Victorian wife. The time of the novel felt completely wrong – this is the 1960s? I don’t have personal experience of 1960′s England, but for the first 10 pages or so I thought we were in 1920′s England instead. By the time we got to the night’s “climax” (arf arf) the whole thing just seemed ridiculous. I was so lost by that point that the further relationship “flashbacks” and denouement of the night held no interest. The last 5 pages of the book then rush through the next 40 years of the characters’ lives, ending on a sort of confused “Wish we hadn’t done that” tone.

Fortunately, it was short and only took me about an hour to get through – I’m not the world’s fastest reader, but skim-reading much of it was more than enough for me.

I like interior dialogues and character driven stories, I like superb writing that exposes the little lies we tell to ourselves and others, I like deeply moving novels exploring what it means to try (and often fail) to communicate with another person, especially if you love that person. For me, this book was none of those.

I am resigned to my fate of not being a McEwan fan.